Cardinal Pompallier resided in the church at the heart of Hannover. It had improved from the run-down and modest church that was quickly renovated for Victor's coronation to a magnificent church that would rival any great church on the continent.
The bells of Hannover rang low and steady as King Victor Luxenberg entered the Church, their sound echoing through the high stone vaults like a measured heartbeat. Morning light filtered through tall, narrow windows, staining the flagstones with pale gold and blue. Incense hung in the air; frank, dry, and solemn, clinging to the breath.
Cardinal Pompallier waited near the altar rail. When Victor approached, the cardinal bowed.
"Your Majesty," Pompallier said. "You come early."
"Trouble does not keep court hours," Victor replied. He removed his gloves but did not sit. "Nor does the Papacy, it seems."
The cardinal's mouth curved faintly. "No. The Papacy rarely does."
They walked together along the side aisle, their footsteps soft against the stone. Victor glanced up at the statues lining the walls; saints frozen mid-suffering, mid-judgment, mid-prayer.
"I will speak plainly," Victor said. "Pope Constantine IV sharpens his authority like a blade. Alphonse Visconte sharpens his crown to match it. They rule the same city, Cardinal. That never ends peacefully."
Pompallier stopped beside a pillar carved with vines and lambs. He folded his hands into his sleeves.
"The Pope believes the Visconte throne has grown to be useless," he said. "The civil ."
"And Alphonse believes the Church mistakes obedience for ownership," Victor replied. "He does not deny the faith. He denies submission."
The cardinal studied Victor carefully. "You are bound to him by marriage and treaty. Yet you come to me."
"I come," Victor said, "because when Muskets are drawn in Roma, the rest of the world bleeds later."
Silence followed. Somewhere deeper in the church, a priest murmured prayers. Pompallier turned toward the altar, as if addressing the stones rather than the king.
"Constantine IV is not reckless," he said. "He is convinced. That is more dangerous. He believes that Alphonse is a thorn in his side and stops him from achieving Christian dominance across the world."
"And Alphonse believes the Church has forgotten the limits of its reach," Victor said. "He governs laws, roads, and armies. Constantine governs souls. Each man claims the other trespasses."
Pompallier nodded once. "Then you see the fault line."
Victor exhaled through his nose. "I see a civil war forming beneath marble floors and silk vestments. One death has already occurred. We are only one sermon away. One arrest away. One more death away from the raging fires of civil war."
The cardinal finally faced him fully. "What counsel do you seek, Majesty?"
Victor's voice lowered. "Is there still room for restraint? Or has the Pope already chosen collision?"
Pompallier's gaze drifted upward to the crucifix above the altar.
"There is restraint," he said slowly. "But it narrows by the day. Constantine listens to those who support him in creating a holy kingdom. Alphonse listens to generals who tell him the Church must bow or break."
Victor's jaw tightened. "And you?"
"I listen," Pompallier said quietly, "to history."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a confidential murmur.
"When throne and altar share a city, one must bend—or both shatter. If neither yields, the faithful will be forced to choose between crown and conscience. That choice never ends cleanly."
Victor was silent for a long moment.
"And what would you have me do?" he asked.
Pompallier met his eyes. "Be what neither man can be: a bridge. Speak to Alphonse not as an ally, but as someone who will share a grandchild with him. Speak to Constantine not as a king, but as a son of the Church who still kneels."
Victor gave a short, humourless smile. "You ask for miracles, Cardinal."
"No," Pompallier replied. "Only delays. Sometimes a delayed war becomes averted one."
The bells rang again, closer now, marking the hour.
Victor drew on his gloves. "If blood is spilt in Roma," he said, "it will not remain there."
Pompallier inclined his head once more. "Then pray it never spills at all."
Victor turned and walked toward the doors, his boots echoing softly through the nave. As he passed into the daylight of Hannover, the bells followed him, solemn, unresolved, and warning.
Cardinal Pompallier's counsel caused more of a headache for Victor. He knew that his role in the ordeal was not to remain a spectator. It was to act as the last hope of keeping the peace. If civil war was meant to be avoided, then Victor would need to visit Zandar once again, further distracting him from his current task: Preparing for war against the Sultan.
Before Victor could make any preparations to leave, a servant sought him out as soon as he arrived back at the palace; it was Florence. "Your Majesty, it is Princess Isabella. She has entered into labour."
Victor's face turned from excited to worried, then back to excited. He hastily made his way to Anton's chamber to stand by his son while he watched the birth of his first grandchild.
Sweat drenched Isabella's forehead, her golden blonde hair escaping its bun. The rhythmic contractions, once a manageable discomfort, had begun to turn into waves of excruciating pain.
Anton went to sit beside her, his hand wrapped strongly around hers. He whispered words of encouragement in a low, soothing voice while the nurses were dutifully carrying out their tasks.
Victor and Clarisse were joined by their eldest daughter, Vanessa, as they welcomed a new member of their family to the world.
After hours of intense contractions, a small boy that shared the Luxenberg's signature purple hair, but his eyes were emerald like his mother's. The boy may have been small, but he produced a loud cry. He was healthy and seemed to be perfectly fine.
When asked what to name the boy, Anton smiled and replied, "We would like to call him Cedric Luxenberg."
Clarisse teared up after hearing that her grandchild was named after her father. Victor nodded in approval and was content to see his grandson. It was hard for him to think that when he arrived in this strange new world, he would have children, let alone grandchildren.
With the birth of his grandson. The system rewarded him.